Page 29 of A Time of Witches

Old wooden cabinets lined the wall, their scalloped edges dating them to a time decades before. An avocado-colored toaster sat in the corner, as if it’d been used recently and not returned.

“Does anyone live here?” Lilith asked.

“Of course not,” Asher said abruptly.

“They did,” she countered.

“Not during the time of your ancestor.” The retort was clearly British for “not your business.”

Lilith wandered into the Great Hall once more, her vision wavering. The figure of a woman in a pale green dress swept into the room, appearing as gauzy and transparent as cobwebs swirling lazily in an unseen breeze.

Her long hair was unbound, but unmistakable, even in her translucent state. Red-gold hair. Like the woman in the dream. The one who continued to beg Lilith for help.

Lilith’s birthmark blazed with sudden heat, making her hiss in surprise.

The woman spun around, revealing a face Lilith recognized immediately.

The air shifted, becoming heavy in Lilith’s chest, filling her with unspeakable terror.

A thundering bang reverberated from the front door.

Boom, boom, boom!

Lilith jumped at the sound, dread turning her veins to ice.

The young woman’s eyes locked on Lilith’s, as if they could see one another from a place that blurred between two worlds.

Nausea surged, spiraling through Lilith with the same awful pull as her dream. Her nightmare.

And everything went black.

Chapter Fourteen

Sybil

Boom, boom, boom!

Sybil stiffened at the insistent knock thundering through Brackenmere Manor. Her hand remained poised over her ledger. An ominous silence followed.

Anne abruptly stopped dusting the bookshelves and turned to Sybil, her eyes wide.

The entire household had seemed jumpy that day. Earlier, the scullery maid had dropped a pan with a great clatter that upset the kitchen maid, who knocked over a goblet made of precious Venetian glass.

Anne flashed a nervous look toward the doorway from the library, then in Sybil’s direction. “Are you well, mum?”

Was there a tremble to her voice?

Sybil pulled a fortifying breath and addressed the young woman. “I am.”

She wasn’t.

Her heart was beating too fast. Her lungs working too hard to draw in air as she recalled the storm Jacinda had summoned, and the protective herbs likely swept from every entrance to their home.

Sybil did not need foresight to tell her what the authoritative knock meant. Everything inside her screamed to run, run, run.

But she would never leave Jacinda.

As lady of the manor in her own right, Sybil would perform her role to the bitter end. With the comportment of a Roman wife, she exited the library and descended the stairs, approaching the entryway, where a servant opened the doors to the magistrate.